


Your Fault

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24043471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Geralt collapses as soon as the last rotfiend dies in an explosion of gore, his sword slipping from loose fingers.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry.

Geralt collapses as soon as the last rotfiend dies in an explosion of gore, his sword slipping from loose fingers. 

“No, no!” Tripping over his own feet, arms windmilling, Jaskier scrambles to his side and hauls him up into his arms. “Geralt, open your eyes, stay with me!”

This is all his fault. If he had just stayed at camp like Geralt wanted, if he hadn’t made a noise like he promised, the rotfiends never would’ve seen him. Geralt never would have had to throw himself repeatedly in the path of the monsters’ claws and teeth and poison. Geralt hadn’t been able to fight at his best with Jaskier at his back, prioritising keeping them away from Jaskier over all else. Now he’s paying the price.

Hot blood pools in Jaskier’s lap from the staggering amount of injuries Geralt’s sustained. _Potion,_ he thinks. _Geralt needs a potion!_

Reaches around to find the spot where Geralt keeps his potions. Yelps as he slices his finger open on jagged glass. The potion is long gone. It’s the only one.

“Fuck, no, Geralt!” Jaskier cries. They’d left without Roach, he can’t get them back to camp on his own. Geralt is too heavy. “Wake up, _please_!”

But Geralt doesn’t move. He’s as pale as death now. Blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth. 

_Your fault,_ Jaskier thinks to himself. There’s no staunching the flow of blood; there’s too much. _This is all your fucking fault. All for a fucking song. Geralt’s life for a fucking song - how’s that for a trade?_

 _Maybe Geralt’s just gone into a healing meditation?_ he wonders, desperately clutching at figurative straws. Sets Geralt down on the ground, unbuckles the armour with quick, practiced motions, and puts his ear to Geralt’s chest.

He waits a long time. The heartbeat never comes.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!!


End file.
